I have been cleaning pots. I have a sanding pad set up on one of my pottery wheels which faces the pond. When I sat down to grind there were three Canadian goose families with a brood of baby geese grazing in the tall grass below the studio. There were the awkward, still slightly fluffy juveniles as well as the tiny yellow fuzzy goslings wobbling behind their parents. When I turned on my wheel one of the adult geese looked up and cranked its neck like it was nervous. The geese had been listening to the noises from my studio and they all quickly retreated to the safety of the water.

I am always learning to listen to my own rhythms of energy and doubt. When we unload the wood kiln there are always waves of disappointment that wash over me. The surface is never what I imagine. The air temps were really high and the kiln was hotter. I sweated my way through the whole process. I tried not to listen too carefully to those first impressions. I know this is my usual process, but I still have to move through the ups and downs of emotions. I have to listen to my mind in all its seasons, but not take it too seriously.

aren’t we all seasons
In the begging breeze

I swear I have been
listening since the
beginning

I swear I have listened to everything

—Jake Rose, from Joan, University of Chicago Press, 2026